


hold my hand, ooh baby its a long way down

by redcabooze



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Crushes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, steam train greaseball, tags will be added as this goes on, this is very not done yet lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcabooze/pseuds/redcabooze
Summary: C.B. was quiet for a moment. He shifted, almost uncomfortable at the uncharacteristic kindness. Greaseball wanted something out of this, he had to. He had never known the former diesel to do anything out of selflessness.
Relationships: CB | Caboose/Greaseball (Starlight Express)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	hold my hand, ooh baby its a long way down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> umm be nice this is the first fic ive written in a while ive got multiple chapters planned for it

C.B. had been crashing trains for at least ten years, and not once had he found himself in a situation like this. 

He’d been banged up plenty himself, of course, but you have to break a couple eggs to make an omelette. The trouble came in the fact that he seemed to have broken _all_ of his eggs — moreso, he’d picked up the carton and threw it at the floor. It had been days since the crash and his ears were still ringing. The lightswee still too bright, like he was looking right at the sun every time he opened up his eyes, and his radio equipment was, for lack of a better word, utterly fucked. Nothing about this was fair. Greaseball and Electra, big strong engines, _they’d_ both been given an offer of conversion. Easy enough, right? Diesel and electric to steam — a little complex, but they were all engines in the end. It was the same idea. Nobody had given him a glance, though. Why would they?

What the hell were you meant to do with a busted up brake van, besides decommission it?

 _Decommissioned._ Now that was a scary word; As many trains as C.B. himself had put out of commission, the idea of it still made him feel ill. He was teetering on the edge of shutting down completely and he knew it, his systems smashed and his inner workings ruined. Electra and Greaseball were _big_ trains, especially compared to C.B., who was decidedly quite small, and if they had left busted up? Well…. C.B. thought it better if he stayed safe, at home, away from anything that could mess him up any further.

Which was why when the door to his station opened and sunlight flooded into the dark room, C.B. let out a shriek like he was being stabbed. His reaction was almost comical, arms thrown up in front of his face as his wide eyes squeezed shut tight. “Stop that!” He sputtered. “Go away! Close the door, oh - Starlight—” He gritted his teeth when the door was frantically shut, soft mumbles of apology coming from a face the caboose certainly couldn’t make out right now. 

C.B. let one eye pop open, the red expanding ever-so-slowly to adjust once again to the dark. He could only vaguely make out the tall figure in his station, spots of white dotting his vision. A weak chuckle slipped from his lips, a smile sliding quickly onto his face. “Why didn’t you say you were comin’ over? I’d’a fixed up the place a little, got some tea ready!” His tone was tinted with sarcasm. Who just walks into someone’s house like that? He adjusted his position on the sofa, hesitantly taking his hands from his face so he could squint at the perpetrator.

“Nobody’s seen you for weeks, C.B.” The voice was immediately recognizable, even before the brake van’s vision came back into focus. How did Greaseball even know where he was located? His first thought was Rusty. He’d kill that little steamtrain. “The others wanted me to —” Greaseball’s mouth twisted, as if uncomfortable, and then he let out a huff. “Okay, no, alright. _I_ wanted to check up on you. I’m worried. Have you even tried to fix yourself up?”

C.B. felt his smile drop, and then glue itself right back into his face. He shrugged, crossing his arms over his dented chest plating. “Fix myself up, how?” He asked, voice ripe with faux innocence and dripping with bitterness. “Tell me, G.B., am I s’posed to wave a magic wand n’ be all better? Ya can’t really convert a little caboose like me to steam, can ya? Say,” he squinted, grinning. “Can you whistle?”

“C.B — ”

“I’m no expert at this stuff, anyway,” C.B threw his arms up, shrugging. It wasn’t a lie; Sure, he knew what the inside of a train looked like, but that didn’t mean he knew how to fix one. “Where would I get the supplies, anyway? It’s not like I can call anyone!” He let out a laughs that was harsh and sudden enough to be mistaken for sobbing. Maybe that was why Greaseball wheeled toward him so suddenly, dropping to his knees by the couch. Even on his knees, the engine was tall enough that he was face-to-face with Caboose, his expression serious and firm. Stupid. C.B. thought. 

“You don’t have to stay cooped up like this,” Greaseball argued firmly, reaching out and placing his hands in a firm grip on C.B.’s arms. He softened his touch when he noticed him flinch in pain, sucking his cheek in between his teeth. C.B grunted, squirming forcefully out of Greaseball’s grip and running his own gloved fingers over his arms to try and soothe the pain. “Dammit. You’re really banged up.”

C.B. laughed, brows raising high on his head. As if this were news. “You’re tellin’ _me_ , buddy! I can’t even go outside without getting a headache.”

Greaseball was quiet for a moment, mulling over his options. It sure did take a while for him to think, C.B. thought. Must’ve been difficult for him, to no one’s surprise. “I don’t know how to fix another train,” Greaseball admitted, and C.B. held back a scoff and a ‘no shit, sherlock’. “But Wrench does. Poppa McCoy does, too. If one of them won’t help you, the other one will. And I can get them to come here.”

C.B. was quiet for a moment. He shifted, almost _uncomfortable_ at the uncharacteristic kindness. Greaseball wanted something out of this, he had to. He had never known the former diesel to do anything out of selflessness. “And why would you do that for me?” He asked, mildly suspicious. “Gosh, not that you’re a bad person, or anything. You’ve just always been very,” he grinned, “Me, me, me.” He watched Greaseball turn red, feeling smug. “About everything. All the time.”

“I’m trying — I’m trying to help you!” Greaseball sputtered defensively, cheeks redder than CB’s own busted up plating. “Because I thought — because we’re friends! You little _prick_!” Greaseball stood, and for one fearful, lonely moment, C.B. thought he was about to leave; His heart did a confusing flip in his chest, and he opened his mouth to apologize. Instead, he sat down beside him on the sofa, crossing his arms, and looking at him. “Because someone helped me,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “And I thought someone ought to help you, too.”

C.B. looked down at his lap, and then up at Greaseball. It felt a little impossible. If someone cared, they’d’ve come to help him already. But people cared about Greaseball, enough to do him a few favors, and Greaseball — he was realizing, heart lightened — Greaseball cared about _him._ Even if nobody else did, at least there was someone, right? Even if that someone was sort of the whole goddamned _reason_ he was in this stupid situation. Maybe that was it, he realized; Greaseball felt guilty. It wasn’t a familiar feeling, for C.B., but on the occasions when it did ball up in his stomach...oh, what he’d do to get rid of it. It made perfect sense. “Thank you,” he said quietly, a small, sincere little smile on his face. C.B. was not used to tenderness, as a concept. He was not used to feeling cared for, not like this, at least. This was different. He pulled his knees up to his chest, side-eying Greaseball, who was still cherry red and staring at his own lap. He could trust him, he figured — if for no other reason than that he was an idiot. He would trust him. 

C.B. held out a hand, and when Greaseball took hold of it, he let a grin spread _wide_ over his face. 


End file.
